


Coming Clean

by losiver



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: A lot of comfort, Akaashi Keiji is Bad at Feelings, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas Eve, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kuroo Tetsurou is a Good Friend, Kuroo Tetsurou is a Little Shit, Kuroo is hella smart too, M/M, Timeskip, akaashi is struggling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:55:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28290495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/losiver/pseuds/losiver
Summary: There was silence from Akaashi. The silence remained for the rest of their walk to his apartment, up the multiple flights of stairs, and even until they were in the room and kicking off their shoes. It wasn’t awkward, however, and not tense. It was a thoughtful silence. Akaashi was digesting Kuroo’s words, drinking in every syllable to dissect it and understand it like the English major he was. And Kuroo walked along with a smile, knowing he’d said the right things he needed to get Akaashi to believe him, like the businessman he was.---Akaashi is in a losing battle with himself, and Kuroo just wants him to be better.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 11
Kudos: 41





	Coming Clean

“I don’t know why I got my hopes up,” Akaashi whispered, his body going through a heavy tremor as he seemed to pull in another sob. 

Kuroo frowned, although he’d been expecting this. Ever since Bokuto told him about the new girlfriend, how he was gonna make it a surprise to Akaashi, he’d gotten a sinking feeling in his stomach. He didn’t expect Bokuto to hide it for a year- and he didn’t expect Bokuto to surprise Akaashi by telling him she was pregnant- that he wanted Akaashi to be the godfather of his child. That had been Bokuto’s idea of a birthday present for the poor guy. Akaashi had started crying and accepted, and Bokuto thought it was sweet, but Kuroo had seen the pain in Akaashi’s eyes as he hugged Bokuto. His eyes asking _why_ as he looked down his back, and at the smiling woman’s rounded belly. _Why couldn’t I be her?_

He walked Akaashi home from the party early. The sun had dipped from the sky already, the night’s December temperatures cooling the air around them, the street lamps and coats they wore doing nothing to ward it off. Akaashi was shivering, even though he was usually so used to the cold. He’d been freezing since he’d seen that woman and her belly and Bokuto with his arms around her. 

Part of him wanted to grab Akaashi, pull him close, and offer his warmth, his company, his _love_ in place of Bokuto’s, but he knew that wasn’t what Akaashi wanted. He’d been pining for Bokuto since he was in middle school. And now the man was building a family, leaving Akaashi on his side and in his dust. It wasn’t Akaashi’s fault, and it wasn’t Bokuto’s, and it wasn’t the woman’s. Kuroo turned the blame on Cupid and his stupid powers, making people fall in love without getting a say in who it was. Cupid was the nastiest bastard, Kuroo thought spitefully, and he’d love to rip that fat baby from the sky and shove his own bow down his throat. See how _he_ likes it.

“We’re allowed to have hopes,” Kuroo responded quietly, the silence dipping too long and it was almost time it ran out before it would be just _weird_ to respond. It wasn’t what Kuroo wanted to say. He was always good with words, but at this moment, they failed him. _Sucks for you! Getting basically dumped on your birthday! Come snuggle with good ol’ Kuroo, eh?_

“I hate hope,” Akaashi put his hand to his head, “it’s what I’ve clung to.. I’ve always _known_ he was straight. I had hope, I perused him for years. And now we’re in our twenties and I’ve spent so long going after him… I’d all.. always told myself it..” Akaashi’s words sputtered out and he stopped under a streetlamp, blubbering out parts of words and sounds like he’d just learned the language and was doing his best to talk to someone without knowing most of it. His body had stuck itself to the ground, his feet unmoving although it seemed like all he wanted to do was move. His nose and cheeks were a brilliant pink, bitten by the cold to make them such a color. His eyes were dark, squinted to fight his own tears, masking the real color with his thick black lashes. 

“I know, Akaashi,” Kuroo took a step back towards the other, and the other didn’t move. He didn’t say anything, his attempts for language falling through as useless. He’d given up. His arm rose over his eyes, as a last stitch attempt to cover up the dam that was cracking. 

It was pathetic. 

Akaashi was breaking down in a park, standing under a street lamp and trying to catch his tears, over a boy he’d lost so many years ago, but hadn’t given up on. 

And Kuroo still thought it was pretty. 

Kuroo threw himself in front of the dam, trying to patch it up, but preparing for the impact. He knew he couldn’t stop it, but he could slow it, maybe save a civilian or two before the water smashed down on their village, took down a tree, and drowned their people. 

And that’s how Akaashi broke. 

Kuroo had thrown his arms around him, pulling the shorter man into him, hoping his body could provide him any solace. Akaashi’s sob was quiet, but it echoed through the depths of every part of Kuroo’s mind, reverberating along the walls and imprinting itself in his memory- a sound he’d never forget, followed by the feeling of Akaashi’s body crashing into him. 

* * *

Kuroo didn’t remember the finer details of how he’d gotten to Akaashi’s apartment that night, and he wasn’t sure how he’d gotten in. But he knew he’d gotten there, slid Akaashi into his bed, and laid with him until he’d wept himself to sleep. And there, he thought something he’d already always known. _Man, Akaashi’s beautiful._

His sleeping face was relaxed, although tearstained, his eyebrows no longer knitted and pushed down, instead, they rested higher. His lips were parted somehow glossy and soft appearing although he wasn’t wearing anything on them. His eyelashes were long and dark and curled, brushing over his fair cheeks, which were red, and his eyes were puffy too, yet still fair, and from this close, Kuroo could see the small hint of freckles over his nose and he wondered if those had always been there. 

Kuroo pulled himself softly away from Akaashi, and the man’s body rolled into the mattress, his hands finding a pillow and holding that in place of Kuroo’s shirt. _Cute_ , he thought, tiptoeing around his body and behind him. He reached into Akaashi’s pockets, one by one, placing the contents on his bedside table. He didn’t bother trying to pry his jacket off, the task being too hard, and if Akaashi woke up again, he knows what he’d think. He instead only went for his feet, peeling off his shoes and socks and placing them together by the door. 

And this is where Kuroo found himself with nothing to do but collect himself. 

He was upset. Surely not upset as Akaashi, but he was upset for Akaashi. He hated seeing him cry, he hated knowing he was in pain, that he was unhappy and he couldn’t get something he’d been fighting for for so long. It made Kuroo want to yell, tell Bokuto he was a fucking idiot and this was the worst present he could ever dream of giving Akaashi. He wanted to force Bokuto to unimpregnate that woman, abolish that relationship, go back a few years and not be straight. He wanted Bokuto to accept Akaashi’s love, to kiss him and hug him and make him his, just so Kuroo could see a smile light up Akaashi’s face. 

However, at the same time, the same year, same place, Kuroo was relieved. 

It made him a bad person, he was sure, but he found comfort in that. Akaashi’s tears brought him hope, each little shiver from his gorgeous body made Kuroo’s own hope rocket. He always was a pretty crier. He was always pretty. He was always beautiful. 

Kuroo had liked him for some time- he wasn’t sure how long- but Akaashi had charmed him. How could he not? Tall, pretty, intelligent. He spoke softly yet bluntly, and he always had the perfect solutions to any problem other than his own. He was a sad soul, broken and stressed, and Kuroo had always wanted to mend him. While Akaashi was still chasing down this unreachable goal, Kuroo had watched from the sidelines, waiting until the reality would crash down on him and he’d shatter with the weight of the world. Kuroo was going to be there to save him and pick up the pieces.

It was selfish. He should have sat down and told Akaashi he had no chance, he shouldn’t have stayed silent about the girl or the baby. He shouldn’t have let Akaashi dream so long. But Akaashi wouldn’t have believed him if he’d just come out and said it. Akaashi needed to see things for himself, he had to witness it all going on before he finally would believe. Because all this time of Kuroo waiting for it to crumble, Kuroo hadn’t expected it to hurt so much to see Akaashi break. 

The ravenette now stood, hands against the wall of Akaashi’s little flat, hands free, with nothing to do with himself. He could leave, but he didn’t want to. Akaashi might need him, wake up and call for him, but find no one there. He didn’t want Akaashi to slip again, slide into a depressive state where he was known to reside for months at a time. Kuroo had always picked up on these but had never caught them in time to stop. And in those times, Akaashi was unreachable. Kuroo wanted to reach him. 

Kuroo decided he’d sleep on the couch. It was late, almost midnight already, and maybe Akaashi needed him. He’d willingly laid with Kuroo… he was fragile. 

* * *

“Kuroo…?” 

He woke up to an angelic voice saying his name. “Kuroo..” It mumbled, so sweet and smooth, yet with a rasp like it had been crying. “Kuroo… wake up.” 

And he blinked open.

Akaashi was by his side, tired green eyes staring down at him with a sad look, a pitiful frown, and dark circles. His curly hair was tousled in itself, long and messy and darker from winter. It still shined, though not as bright, and his glasses were shoved half hazardously on top, making his bangs curl out in wispy tendrils, and the too-long parts hooked onto the frames. His nose was pink again, and his cheeks were a calmer red. The red tear streaks had faded into his skin, but his eyes were still red. His pretty pink lips shined with saliva from the tongue he’d been dragging across it when Kuroo awoke, the angel’s hand holding his arm. 

Kuroo made a show of yawning, patting over his mouth and stretching out his shoulders as he laid there. He pushed himself to a sit, and Akaashi went back a step, and then he gave the man a lazy grin. “Morning, angel.” 

“Ang…” Akaashi began, but his words died on his breath and he pulled away, turning his head to the side. “You could have slept on my bed. Why didn’t you tell me to move?”

“Why would I? It’s your bed,” Kuroo pushed his long lengths over the side of the bed and reached upwards, feeling his back crack and pop back into position. It was stiff from the coach, his head constantly craned, but it was a good stiff. The stretching left him feeling better as he stood up. 

“You’re the guest.” 

“I wasn’t invited.” 

Akaashi looked at Kuroo like he wanted to throttle him, but was too weak to lift his hands to do so. 

Kuroo noticed he was dressed different- perhaps he’d switched during the night, or maybe just that morning, but he was now wearing a loose pair of sweatpants and a red sweater that hugged his body graciously, accenting just about every color of his skin in such an odd way and bringing out the true dark brown of his hair. It was a good mix, not common, but good. Everything looked good on Akaashi. 

The shorter blew a small stream of air from between his lips. “It’s... it’s still-“ 

“It’s still nothing, ‘Kaashi,” Kuroo slid past him and began a walk towards the kitchen. Akaashi I followed him. “How’re ya feeling?”

“You’re just gonna segway away?” Akaashi rounded the corner with him and stood to the left of the coffee pot, while Kuroo went right up to it and hit the button to make it power up.

“And you’re avoiding my question, Akaashi,” Kuroo shot back instantly, turning his sharp gaze down to Akaashi. 

The smaller man jolted at the words and then turned down. “I’ll be fine,” He murmured through nearly closed lips, “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” Akaashi’s gaze avoided him as he looked now to the coffee pot, all heated now, hot coffee made and emitting a bitter smell that Kuroo could see was enticing Akaashi. He reached for a mug and pulled it down, pouring a bit into it, and he slid it towards Akashi. 

Akaashi looked at it and nodded, “thank y-“ Kuroo pulled it away just as Akaashi was reaching for it. The ravenette looked up and frowned. 

Kuroo cheekily smirked back. “You’re so funny Akaashi.” 

“What do you mean?” Akaashi asked, quirking one of his eyebrows as his head tilted. His hands began to reach for the coffee pot, but Kuroo slid it away. 

“You’re funny. You lied to me, and you think you’re gonna slip by like that.” 

Akaashi’s face shifted from confusion to dread, his tilted head straightening and his entire face dropping. His lips parted like he was going to say something, but all that came out was air as he grasped for a word, opened and closed his mouth, and then finally pressed it closed. 

Kuroo took it as his cue to keep talking. To explain, and he couldn’t help but think _finally._

“You should know by now you can’t lie to me. I’m not dumb. I’m smart, and I don’t like it when you lie like that.” 

“I’m not-“ 

“You are. You say you’re fine but you fell asleep on me last night, sobbing. You do this all the time, Keiji,” Kuroo looked at Akaashi head on now. His body was deflated, like all the structure he’d been using had been a facade, and now that he knew he didn’t have to fake, he wasn’t going to attempt. Kuroo held back the urge to hug him. “You try to convince people you’re okay because you don’t like to burden people. You don’t want to make things about you, you just want to help people Akaashi, and then when that doesn’t work, when you bottle up so much, you explode. You disappear. Your friends call, your family calls, you isolate yourself and you're not seen and you lose weight. The only way I knew you were alive those times was because your teachers told me. You go for months and... I worry. That you’ll not be okay. And I couldn’t stop it.” 

Akaashi gripped himself, Kuroo saw, his nails digging into his biceps, where he held onto hugging himself. His head was directly to the floor, staring at the tiles as if they were a great piece of artwork. 

Kuroo had his hand under Akaashi’s chin and was jerking his face up before he could stop himself. Big green eyes stared back at him, squinted like he was pushing back tears, and a few already slipping out. His cheeks were puffed up from Kuroo’s grip, and his lips were pursed and big and looking so kissable. 

“Let me take care of you, Akaashi,” Kuroo asked, but he felt as if it was more like he was pleading. “I just want to make you feel better.” 

Akaashi regarded him quietly for a moment, maybe two if he was counting, but quickly shattered. His head became heavier in Kuroo’s hand, and he was leaning in. Kuroo met him halfway, catching Akaashi in his arms a second time in that twenty-four hours. This time, his crying was unrestrained, heavy sobs into a strong chest. His hands gripped into Kuroo’s shirt like a lifeline, as if he was falling and the only way to stay on solid ground was to hold him. 

“Oh, Keiji,” Kuroo muttered in a quiet breath, nuzzling his nose into Akaashi’s curls. He breathed in his scent, relishing in the strong smell of vanilla-scented shampoo entering his system, the same scent Akaashi had held for years and the same scent that Kuroo could never get enough of. “Your shampoo…”

Akaashi’s crying reached a hiccup as he pulled his head away. “My- My-” He let out another sob, rubbing under his nose as he looked up at Kuroo. Tears had streaked down his cheeks again, sliding down his cheeks and dipping off his jaw in heavy droplets. His nose was runny, but there was no harm in that. He looked cute. 

“Your shampoo. It’s nice- It always smells nice. You always smell nice,” Kuroo explained, moving one of his hands from Akaashi’s back to rub at a lone tear, swiping it off Akaashi’s cheek and drying it on his shirt, “I figured it’s your shampoo.” 

Akaashi laughed. A real, loud laugh rocked his body forward. It sounded full and lively, unlike any laugh he’d heard from the other man in years- in ever, maybe. It fell into sweet giggles that made Kuroo feel bittersweet- the sound of them were like the bells of heaven, but he would have sold his soul to hear more of that real laugh.

“You’re.. so stupid,” Akaashi forced out between little giggles, being cuter than what was legal. It was unfair how gorgeous he looked, laughing with red eyes and an ugly runny nose. Only Keiji Akaashi could be in this bad a shape and still rival the most gorgeous of God’s creations. 

“How am I stupid?” Kuroo countered, doing his best to sound offended, but he couldn’t fight off the joyful smile that crept across his lips. 

“I’m sobbing and you’re talking about how my _shampoo_ smells,” He replied, pressing his palms harder against Kuroo and pushing their fronts apart. Kuroo still kept his hands connected to Akaashi’s hips, unwilling to let go of his body entirely. Akaashi didn’t push back against this, though. He was willing to stay there. 

Kuroo tugged his hips a little closer, forcing Akaashi to take a step closer to him. It fueled his smile, making his entire body feel a little lighter. He’d wanted this kind of connection for _years._ “I don’t think it’s stupid to talk about your shampoo,” He tugged a little closer, “Do you know what I want for Christmas?” 

“My shampoo?” Akaashi scoffed, taking the step forward. His hands toyed with one of the buttons on the shirt Kuroo wore, still yet to change out of and shower. Day old, dirty with the filth of yesterday, and Akaashi was still playing with it as if it was perfectly clean. 

Kuroo smiled at himself. “I want you laughing like that all the time. And smiling. You’re gorgeous.” 

Akaashi’s face blanked as he stared up at Kuroo, blinking at him. He stared hard at Kuroo like he was observing a science project, looking for any slight detail he could miss easily so he could make a conclusion out of it. He seemed to be struggling- there was no change. There was nothing he could find. He was probably thinking, ‘I did something wrong to this. This isn’t right.’ 

Akaashi didn’t believe him. Kuroo knew it- Most insecure beautiful people wouldn’t listen to being told they’re beautiful. They don’t understand. They don’t believe it. Either they aren’t told it enough, so it’s been ruled out as a possibility in their mind, or they’re told it too much, and they believe everybody is lying to them.

This was his case- the case of Akaashi Keiji- one of the two. Maybe he’d been told by so many random people he was beautiful- by old ladies, random women, the occasional man. In high school, he was described as a beauty in the articles he was written into- ‘Fukurodani’s Stunning Setter’. Kuroo always heard whispers about, people talking about how Fukurodani had two of the most attractive people on their team. The big guy, Bokuto, handsome and buff and loud, perfect husband material, who could chop wood with his biceps and carry a whole house to you. And then Akaashi, the prince, with careful dainty hands and a skinnier, leaner figure. He had rare dark curls and entrancing eyes. He didn’t look like he could chop a tree with his biceps, and he may struggle to carry someone, but he was tall and still quick- a princely beauty. 

Despite all this, if Kuroo had to pick one of the two reasons why Akaashi never believed he was beautiful, he’d have to say it was the one of him not being called beautiful enough. 

Akaashi was a man of truth. He didn’t believe anything until he witnessed it, or heard it from the mouth of a credible person. He was logical. If he believed in someone, he believed them, and when he wanted to hear certain things, he wanted to hear them from certain people. 

Akaashi had seen Bokuto responsible for his beauty. It was Bokuto’s job to judge how he looked, if he was ugly or pretty or if he should dress this way or that way. He relied on Bokuto’s opinion, he wanted Bokuto’s opinion, he _needed_ Bokuto’s opinion to think highly of his looks. But Bokuto never said anything. He’d occasionally compliment Akaashi, saying he looked cool. He’d choose between outfits when asked to choose. But he’d never called Akaashi beautiful or ugly. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t Akaashi’s. Akaashi did this subconsciously- he probably didn’t realize he’d made this internal rule, but it was there and it was stuck. He’d only accept it as truth if it came from someone he cared for- someone he’d want to look good for. Someone he wanted to compliment him. 

That’s why Akaashi knit his eyebrows together and looked at Kuroo with a disbelieving stare. “You’re not stupid,” He said, “you’re insane.” 

“If I was insane, I would have killed you last night. I had every opportunity to slash your pretty neck right open,” Kuroo glanced briefly down to Akaashi’s neck, at his Adam’s apple, which bobbled suddenly at Kuroo’s words. 

“Maybe you’re playing with your food.”

“I’m not that kinda guy, Keiji,” Kuroo looked back up at Akaashi’s eyes. He was still calculating, but his eyes had rested and his mouth was back into a straight line. The only sign he’d been crying were his red eyes and there was no sign of that laugh or smile. He smiled himself. “When I’m hungry, I eat.” 

“Then you’re insane for thinking I’m gorgeous,” Akaashi deadpanned. His voice lifted at the end. Kuroo took this as a good sign. 

“For telling you that you’re gorgeous,” Kuroo clarified, “Telling is different than thinking.” 

“Thinking and saying-“ 

“Telling you. I didn’t say it- I told you it. Saying is different than telling as well, Akaashi,” He tugged Akaashi closer, to where their stomachs were touching and their faces were only inches apart. 

He could have leaned in and kissed Akaashi right there, it was only a slight head jerk away. And Akaashi could have pulled away easy- Kuroo made sure to keep his grip loose in case Akaashi wanted to move. But neither of them did a thing, staring at each other through dark lashes, waiting for another word, a message, anything. But they didn’t. 

Kuroo called it a waiting game. When would he work up the balls to kiss him? Was it appropriate? Would Akaashi really want it? Akaashi was smart- he knew that was probably his intention. Akaashi could read him well, and Kuroo could do the same. They were similar in that way- they always butted heads, always had some banter going between them, stubborn against stubborn. If they argued, it’d go for days, and always went unresolved. 

And this was an instance where neither we’re going to back down. Akaashi stared at him, an unwavering stare, challenging what Kuroo’s next action was going to be, and Kuroo was standing there and begging for Akaashi to do it. 

Their conflict was broken by ringing. Loud, blaring, vibrating, creating an ugly noise from whatever surface it rested on. Akaashi’s phone. 

Akaashi’s look broke first, and he peered past Kuroo’s shoulder. He broke from him, but his hands lingered on Kuroo’s as he walked away, around the corner, and into his room. The ringing stopped, and Kuroo could hear the beginning of a quiet conversation. Kuroo had won- But he hadn’t. Maybe this was what Akaashi wanted. Maybe it wasn’t at all. 

Kuroo turned to the coffee and slid his mug over. He dipped a finger into it and cursed quietly. It had gone cold. 

* * *

Kuroo made a promise with Akaashi to call him every morning. On his way to work, Kuroo would dial his number and listen to Akaashi’s morning movements, eating and drinking, running, a lot of doors, and they always said goodbye when Kuroo made his way to the lot of the building he worked in. They talked about anything. What breakfast they had, what their day was like, and the night before. If they slept well. Kuroo found himself in love with the routine, a nice breath of fresh air as Akaashi’s voice graced his mornings. It sent him up for good, and he hoped it was the same for him. 

On the first day of the weekend, Kuroo called Akaashi to see what he was up to. He was visiting his family- and he offered for Kuroo to come out with him on Sunday, get coffee and talk before the week progressed. Kuroo readily agreed. 

And that’s how he ended up listening to Akaashi rant in the park, fingers wrapped around his cup as he complained about the lovers in the story he was editing, how it was complete shit and they had no chemistry at all. 

“It’s clear that Sato has much more chemistry with her best friend Nakamura, but _no_ , they’re both girls so, of course, they’re just best friends. She’s all heated over this dead fish of a man and- ugh! I hate it. Inherently, there’s nothing wrong with it, it’s just like every other shoujo manga. I _hate it,_ ” Akaashi huffed, pressing his lips to the opening of his coffee and leaning his head back, sucking down a hard gulp and then looking back with a frown. 

_Cute._ “Heteronormativity. I think most of the time, the best friend always belongs better with the protagonist, but they can’t because it’s gay,” Kuroo licked at his own cup’s top, tasting droplets from his previous sip while he planned his next words. “The best friend always seems gayer. It always seems like the best friend is quietly pining for the protagonist in their mini homosexual world. Like…” 

“Me?” Akaashi scoffed, crinkling the bag of pastries in his hand. He’d bought two donuts for them to share when they got back to Akaashi’s place. Kuroo’s mind was off the donuts though, only now on Akaashi as he stared bitterly at the snow-covered grass surrounding their sidewalk. 

Kuroo frowned. “No, no not like you,” He said, weakly countering the claim. He searched his brain for a specific example of what he was talking about- thousands appeared but none made it to his tongue, the names escaping him and all he could see were faces. _C’mon Tetsurou, say it. Before he gets all depressed. Tetsurou, prove him wrong!_

He was too late. 

“No... it’s exactly like me. Bokuto… he’d be the protagonist of any show, any book, any movie. He’s brilliant, he’s bright, he’s driven. He has passion, he has all the makings to be a perfect hero or a role model,” Akaashi pressed his bottom lip to the plastic lid of his coffee cup and rubbed the sharp tab against the plump, pink skin. It didn’t pierce, but it reddened. “I’m his best friend. I’m a pillar of support for him, I help him occasionally, but I’m not as strong as him. As driven. I don’t have any special powers or a special look. I’m just… the best friend… Who’s totally, utterly, fucking _gay_ for him…” 

Kuroo looked on as Akaashi talked, observing the little flicks of his eyes, staring down at his cup, then to the snow, and then his hands. He was sad, devastated- he was mourning the love that would never happen for him. As much as Kuroo wanted to argue, he couldn’t. Akaashi had it on the spot- except for the special look part- he was completely right. He was self-aware enough to realize he wasn’t protagonist material… 

Kuroo looked at his sneakers, large and black with red laces that Kenma had given him. He’d drawn small formulas on the sides with a white gel pen he’d used from his ex-girlfriend, and they stuck despite all the hell he’d put these shoes through. The laces were worn, and the plastic aiglets had long since fallen off and broken. They were a slightly tight fit, and definitely wearing at the toe, but he liked them and he thought they were comfortable, so he kept wearing them. He knew he’d have to get new ones soon, but when he looked for the same kind of brand, he couldn’t find it. 

Kuroo then looked at Akaashi. Still watching the sidewalk, lost in his head. Maybe he was having an inner monologue about his shoes- where had he gotten them from? How long had he had them? Was there any secret writing on them that only he knew about? Were the laces original or had he put them in himself?

Kuroo smiled to himself at these thoughts. Such little things, small details, all that made up Akaashi. Kuroo looked back at their path. “Sure, you might not be the protagonist of Bokuto’s story. You might not be the protagonist of any story but... who cares? I know I’m not. But you’re still unique, ‘Kaashi. In those worlds, in _this_ world, everyone’s someone. We’ve all got our little things, our little stories. There are reasons why we do shit, there’s shit about us that nobody knows and never will know. There’s information in your brain that you’ll die with and there’s little particles in your body that are specific to you,” Kuroo brushed his arm against Akaashi’s, and he felt the smaller male react with another touch back, their left and right elbows hitting each other willfully. Acknowledgment of his words. “Just… just ‘cause you aren’t _the protagonist_ doesn’t mean you’re any less interesting. I could name hundreds of characters more interesting than the protagonist in all media. It’s the same for real life. I’m interested in you, Akaashi. Every little detail about you.” 

There was silence from Akaashi. The silence remained for the rest of their walk to his apartment, up the multiple flights of stairs, and even until they were in the room and kicking off their shoes. It wasn’t awkward, however, and not tense. It was a thoughtful silence. Akaashi was digesting Kuroo’s words, drinking in every syllable to dissect it and understand it like the English major he was. And Kuroo walked along with a smile, knowing he’d said the right things he needed to get Akaashi to believe him, like the businessman he was. 

* * *

He called Akaashi beautiful again. It happened the same day, that Sunday, December 13th. It rolled off his lips as easy as a fact- because it is a fact- but it had still taken Akaashi by surprise, his long fingers stuttering over the strings of the instrument he was tuning, striking the string the wrong way and making a loud, off-pitch noise. 

Kuroo didn’t care to note if it was a violin or a viola- Kuroo was sure of the former since he wasn’t sure where he’d learned a viola was an instrument from- but he’d asked Akaashi to teach him a little something on it. Akaashi had agreed, pulling it out of the neat case with red velvet insides, emitting the smell of wood and a richer kind of vanilla scent. He was intoxicated by the way Akaashi lifted it out and positioned the shoulder rest, how he expertly placed it between his chin and shoulder and how he closed his eyes as he plucked each string and turned a little peg at the bottom of the instrument. He looked serene. He looked at home. He looked pretty. And the words had just flowed out. 

After the words, Akaashi looked at him challengingly through his dark lashes, his head still supporting the instrument, so he couldn’t lift his head to give him the usual disappointed stare. He looked more gorgeous at this angle though, and so Kuroo told him a second time. 

“Delusional again, Kuroo,” Akaashi tsked, reaching into the case and pushing a clip. He slid a bow out, long and slightly curved, dark pernambuco connected with light horsehair. Akaashi twisted the end of it, and Kuroo watched as it curved more, the hair becoming more taut as the nub was turned. 

Kuroo smiled softly at him. “I took my meds this morning. All of what I see and say is the truth.” 

Akaashi looked up at him like that again, and then he looked down. He didn’t say another word. He placed the bow on the string and dragged it across, creating a brilliant sound as he went across each string and wiggled the pegs a little more until he finally seemed satisfied. 

Kuroo was going to call him ethereal this time, but Akaashi had hushed his words by shoving the bow into his hand. “Let’s start with the bow hold…” 

* * *

They began calling in the mornings as well as the evenings again. Kuroo looked forward to hearing Akaashi mumbling through a mouthful of food or between swigs of his drink, imagining his stuffed cheeks as he tried to explain his newest story idea to Kuroo, or maybe the political climate, and sometimes, he liked to discuss the latest TV show he had watched. Akaashi always listened patiently while Kuroo talked about his own endeavors. They didn’t discuss their friends, Bokuto, his baby. He kept that out of the phone conversations, and Akaashi never made a move to make it a thing. 

It changed on that Friday. They had plans to hang out again, setting the date for the next Tuesday, Christmas Eve. Neither of them had plans, and so they made it a date. Kuroo didn’t have plans for the day after, either, but he wasn’t going to mention it. His dad and grandparents were taking a trip to another country, one that Kuroo couldn’t follow on since he had work. Like them, Kenma was in Brazil to spend the holidays with Shoyo, as well as do some odd Christmas Special for his YouTube channel. It would be him and his TV. 

Despite having a set date, Kuroo still wanted to see Akaashi, but he knew he couldn’t. So, he called Akaashi that Friday morning. It rung and rung, and nothing. _Weird,_ Kuroo thought but decided not to worry about it. He may have slept in, or his phone was dead, or maybe he was busy. Kuroo tried one more time in the middle of his train ride, and still got nothing, so he left it alone. 

He floated through his workday, thankful that it was his last until after Christmas. It was generous, unheard of generous, but he suspected it was because his boss was heading off for a while, and certainly didn’t want to keep up with his workers. The company rejoiced. 

He went home and cleaned himself up, constantly checking his phone for any text. Any call. Anything. Nothing. 

Akaashi was one to keep up with people. He’d text you a sorry if he missed your call, he left voicemails when his own was missed. He called back. He wasn’t one to leave people open without a reason. Even unopened. He was always hasty to reply. 

Kuroo shoved a shirt and pants into a bag and left to Akaashi’s place.

* * *

When he got to the little apartment, he messed with the doorknob and found it unlocked. _Lucky_ , he thought, or figured Akaashi knew he was coming. It was wishful thinking, and he hoped it was right, as he pushed into the apartment and called, “Akaashi?” 

He got no response. 

Kuroo slid in and shut the door behind him, kicking off his shoes at the front, knowing Akaashi would appreciate that. Akaashi’s own were there, so he was probably here, but they weren’t neatly put into place as they normally were. As if he’d gotten back in a rush. 

Kuroo deposited his bag down on the small table just beside the front of the apartment, where Akaashi had random papers and his keys, a bag, and his wallet. _With the door unlocked? How careless._ That was a bad sign. 

“Akaashi?” Kuroo called again, walking past the empty kitchen and living room. The lights were on in the kitchen, and Akaashi never left lights on if he was leaving a room. Kuroo flipped the switch off when he saw it. 

He walked to the bedroom and peered in, fully expecting to see either a dead body or Akaashi in his bed, but he found neither. The room was messier, the bed unoccupied and unmade, but there were bottles by it. Empty beer cans, strewn on the ground and just barely near a wastebasket. Akaashi didn’t like beer. 

Kuroo walked faster to the bathroom. The light was on, the door wasn’t entirely closed, and he could hear quiet sloshing and small noises.. crying? 

Kuroo pushed it open, eyes immediately going to the bath where Akaashi was, hugging a bottle to his chest and dressed fully, but submerged in water. He looked up to Kuroo slowly. He had a faraway look with droopy, bloodshot eyes. He was wasted.

“Tetsu..?” He slurred the letters in his sentence smashing into each other like they were on the subway during rush hour. It came out in one sound, one syllable, barely recognizable as what it was. “‘St you?” 

“It’s me,” Kuroo responded, stepping into the bathroom and walking hesitantly to the man in the bath. There were a few towels on the floor and random products there too. His toothbrush was sticking up from his wastebin, and some fancy looking cream was smashed on the ground, said cream being crushed out of the bottle and onto one of the towels. The smell Akaashi carried was now acrid and bitter, straight alcohol and vomit. Kuroo dared to glance down at the toilet, and while flushed, he could smell it. He was a mess.

“Wh’re yo.. here,” Akaashi’s grip on the bottle seemed to loosen, and it slid down his front and dunked into the water. Akaashi glanced down at it, maybe making an attempt to catch it, but it didn’t seem to do anything. He was too slow. All he did was mumble, “oh brother…” 

“Akaashi, how much have you drank?” Kuroo knelt beside the bath and picked the bottle out of the water. It was heavy, expensive shit, and still had a little bit of liquid in it. Kuroo couldn’t tell what was water and what was alcohol, though. Vodka, he saw, and he couldn’t tell. He dumped the rest of it in the toilet anyway and put the bottle down. 

“Hm.. all day…” 

“How much, I asked.” 

Akaashi’s lips puffed up as he pursed them, green eyes slowly lowering down to the water. He was in sweatpants and a shirt- had he even gone to work? How long had he been in the bath? 

“Beer.. and that. A bit… I had beer in the cans.. bought it this mornin’,” Akaashi reached his hand out of his lap and rested it on the side of the tub. He stared at it intently, as if he was thinking hard, but Kuroo could see that behind his eyes was blank, squabbled nonsense. He wasn’t going to get any straight answers. 

Kuroo dipped his fingers into the bath to test the temperature. It was cold- freezing, actually. Had Akaashi ran it cold or had he been in there so long? 

“Akaashi, let’s get you cleaned up. Okay?” Kuroo grabbed Akaashi by the arms, and the raven-haired male responded by ragdolling, allowing Kuroo to easily lift him from where he sat. 

When he got to his feet, he wobbled like a newborn giraffe, unable to comprehend the altitude he was at or figure out how to work his own limbs. Kuroo supported him as he stepped out of the bath, ignoring how Akaashi soaked his clothes. He shut the toilet lid and told Akaashi to sit, and ordered him to take off his clothes while Kuroo got him some new ones. Akaashi had agreed and began the task of pulling off his shirt. 

Kuroo left for Akaashi’s room, chewing on his bottom lip. What happened? He sounded okay last night. He’d call it chipper if he had to put a word to it. He’d talked greatly about his coffee that morning and about how he had a really good pastry for lunch. He rejoiced over his small workload because he’d finished a lot of it on the Wednesday. He was excited for the next day- for today- and had been planning to go to dinner with Bokuto. Bokuto… 

Kuroo stopped in his tracks as he remembered what Bokuto had told him sometime last week. “I’m gonna propose next Friday! We’re going out to a really nice park… I got the ring and everything.” 

_Fuck._

Kuroo took out another pair of sweatpants and a shirt from Akaashi’s dresser, swiping a pair of boxers as well, and hurried back into the bathroom. _Of course,_ Akaashi would learn of this. Of course, he’d be upset. Why didn’t he prepare for this? 

Kuroo got back from the bathroom and found Akaashi with most of his clothes off, his only problem being his boxers, which he’d gotten his arm stuck in the dick opening. One leg was out, but the other was still trying to get away, juggling the effort of trying to free his arm as well. His movements were too slow, his brain working not well enough to figure out what to do.

Kuroo frowned. He didn’t like this Akaashi. So drunk he couldn’t even undress himself. He didn’t want to see this Akaashi again. 

* * *

Kuroo got Akaashi dried up and dressed and forced a small sandwich down his throat before getting him into bed, despite it only being 6 pm. He laid Akaashi on his side, close to the end of the bed, and placed a trash pail next to it. He knew the dangers of drunk people throwing up in their sleep- if he was on his back, he would have choked on it. Kuroo slept next to him in his half soaked clothes, still wondering how he’d failed to be there with Akaashi when he needed it.

* * *

Kuroo woke up to retching. Exactly as he feared. 

He shot up from where he had been laying and found himself already in the direction of Akaashi. Akaashi was hunched over the side of the bed, barely lifted by anything and gripping onto the sheets for dear life. Kuroo grabbed for him, taking the man’s waist in one arm and grabbing his bangs with the other, giving Akaashi more freedom to reach down and hold the waste bin closer as he emptied the contents of his stomach into it. 

The smell that entered the room was pure bile, acidic, and disgusting. He must not have eaten anything but that sandwich Kuroo had forced him to. 

Kuroo turned his head behind them, towards the closed window which showed a still darkened sky, the only illumination coming from the moon and various streetlamps outside. 

Kuroo released Akaashi after a final dry heave, then multiple gasped breaths in a row, and he was sitting properly, arm against his mouth. His eyes were wild as he stared down at himself, his lap, his blanket, his arm, trying to understand where he was, how he got there, why he was puking, and why Kuroo was there. Kuroo half knew the feeling. He knew the ache of waking up in random places after a hard night of drinking. He, however, had never drank away his misery and had to wake up to face a heartbreak. Akaashi, however, was living through it, with still empty beer cans and puffy red eyes to boot. At least when Kuroo woke up after a blackout, he never had any idea of what he had done. 

“Morning,” Kuroo greeted somberly, his tone coming out sadder than he’d intended it to. He immediately followed it up with a, “Feeling good?” which came out aggressively facetious, again unintended. He blamed his fast start for his uncontrollable tone, or maybe he should blame it on his stress.

Akaashi looked at him sideways, wearing a frown that struck chords in Kuroo, coming out like a song his grandma would cry at but was weirdly hot. Kind of like a Buckcherry song. Akaashi’s eyes were darker and had the bags to boot. His skin was paler, almost greenish, but still fair and light, making his eyes and hair pop even more than they naturally did. His hair was messy and knotted, curls sticking up in every other angle, any angle they could possibly point, and it vaguely reminded Kuroo of his own constant bedhead. 

“Fucking peachy,” Akaashi grumbled lowly, his voice rasping under the extreme abuse it’d probably undergone, damaged by the alcohol that had gone consistently in and out throughout that morning and yesterday. Akaashi cringed at it, placing his fingertips to his Adam’s apple, and then immediately regretting it as he bent his body back over the side f the bed and began hacking. He wasn’t throwing up- Just hacking, like a long-time smoker. 

“That’s great to hear, angel,” Kuroo joked back as he pulled himself out of the bed, already awake despite it probably being before 4 am. The spook rose him, and it probably was going to keep Akaashi up too. He checked his phone’s time and-indeed. It was 2 am, December 19th. “Do you feel good enough to stand?” 

“Maybe,” Akaashi turned his body with a pained look, and then rose, using his bed as a crutch. He shifted his weight from one foot to the next and then nodded. “Yeah. Why are you here?” 

“I got worried. Rightfully so,” Kuroo walked around anyway and offered his arm as a crutch, trying not to cringe as he walked Akaashi to the bathroom. His breath was awful. He made a mental note to open the window of Akaashi’s room the second he went back. 

Akaashi’s grip shifted on Kuroo’s arm. He wasn’t leaning any weight on Kuroo, as he was walking fine, but he still held on. “I’m sorry,” He apologized, “I didn’t want to worry you.” 

“You’re allowed to worry me. I care about you. I want to help,” Kuroo tugged Akaashi into the bathroom and stood with him in front of the sink. “I told you to call me when you felt you needed somebody. Drinking… that doesn’t help shit.” 

“I’m sorry. I’m just. I usually drink. But yesterday, it got out of control. I just- With what Bokuto said- what he did. I saw the ring and I just… lost it I guess,” Akaashi pressed his abdomen against the sink and stood there a moment, pulling at his fingers as he stared at the counter. “Drinking helps. A little- I do after you call. I never get that bad… I don’t day drink. I don’t know what came over me.” 

Kuroo’s heart sank in his chest. Akaashi had been drinking every night to feel better? Even after their calls? He always made sure to see that Akaashi was feeling alright when he went to sleep. He cracked jokes, complimented him, listened to him laugh, and made sure he could hear a smile as he bid him goodnight. And he still felt bad enough that he had to drink? 

“It’s not you,” Akaashi quickly said after staring at Kuroo’s face, “It's me. I’ve.. I’ve been doing this for years. I can’t really stop- I’m usually in control. I don’t know-“ 

“You’re an alcoholic?” 

Akaashi cringed. His lips pursed like the word had reached his tongue and tasted sour, like it was as far from anything he wanted to hear. _Alcoholism._ It made sense. He did always wonder why Akaashi had a fresh bottle of alcohol in his house every time he went over, why he was always bent on having some sort of drink when they went out. He remembered some late-night calls where Akaashi’s voice was an octave higher, or he sounded a little happier and spoke a little stupider. He remembered hearing Akaashi speak about drunk nights out, and how he always had a different story. Every single time. 

And then his avoidance. He remembered Bokuto mentioning he was drinking a lot at one of the bars they visited. Kenma had once mentioned the constant alcohol in his fridge. Osamu had commented about how crazy each of his drunk stories was. Each time, Akaashi had rolled his eyes at it and avoided it altogether. 

Constant headaches. Tired eyes, sunglasses. It may not be the worst case of alcoholism… but it was still alcoholism. 

“I don’t-“ 

“You are,” Kuroo frowned, “That’s alcoholic behavior Akaashi.” 

Akaashi’s swallowed hard again as he searched the bathroom counter erratically now, green eyes darting at every corner and every crevice. He didn’t want to respond. When he didn’t find anything, he leaned down to running water and sipped some down, swished it, and spit it out. He went back to searching. 

“Akaashi.”

“It’s not bad,” Akaashi forced, “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” 

He knew he was an alcoholic. He wasn’t dumb. But he was, Kuroo realized, he was dumb in the worst way. He’d always hailed Akaashi as this greater, smarter being who always knew what he was, was always self-aware, always in control, but seeing him in this light… he really wasn’t. Searching erratically for his toothbrush, which he didn’t remember shoving into his wastebin last night. He wasn’t in control. He wasn’t fine. 

“I hate when you lie, Akaashi. We talked about this,” Kuroo reached over him and slid open one of the draws under his sink. In there, as he predicted, was a package of toothbrushes. He pulled it out and handed it to Akaashi. The raven-haired man took it with shaking hands. 

“I don’t drink that much. I can control it,” He said, lying again as he reached into the same drawer as pulled out a long cardboard box, and began messing with the tape that kept it shut. 

Kuroo felt something in him snap. A hot, bad feeling welled in his chest at Akaashi’s words, his constant insistence he was okay. He was angry at Akaashi. He was angry at himself. He’d been convincing himself that Akaashi couldn’t be that bad- he hated Akaashi’s lying when he was guilty of the crime too. 

Kuroo breathed in through his nose. It went in shaky. Akaashi was still struggling with the cardboard that held the toothpaste. 

“You define drinking every night as not that much? As in control?” Kuroo felt his voice lower, and he didn’t attempt to make it higher. He was mad, very fucking mad. 

Akaashi’s fiddling with the cardboard stopped when he looked at Kuroo. His eyes showed something apprehensive, something scared, and Kuroo relished in that. “It’s… it’s not. I can stop. People do this all the time. It’s not that big of a deal,” He lied again, sounding genuine like he believed his own words. Did he believe his own words? 

“Fucking bullshit,” Kuroo grabbed onto the counter forcefully, and Akaashi startled at the motion. His eyes stared at Kuroo with a wide, scared stare. The cardboard box sat in his hands, unopened and given up on, but frozen. _Good._ “It’s not that big a deal. Right,” He laughed briefly, it came out bitter, “Have you heard of liver cancer? Cirrhosis? Not a big deal, eh? Tell that to those people. The people dead because of them, tell the folk who can’t get a new liver, tell the dying _fucks_ getting drained of their own piss that it’s not that bad. Any one of those guys would probably tell you without a fucking doubt that they wished they’d never touched alcohol. Do you fucking know what it does to you?” 

Akaashi flinched at every harsh word Kuroo said, and with everyone, Kuroo felt his foot inch a bit closer, and his grip on the countertop tighten. He was white-knuckling when he began again. 

“Those poor people die because they can’t put the drink down. Their liver is permanently damaged, they fill up with so much fluid they become fucking water balloons, and they have to go and get themselves drained by doctors. They get infections and jaundice, they can’t fucking walk. They die, Keiji, they fucking die. And they die long before their heart stops beating,” Kuroo released the counter after his joint popped, and he stretched it out, but he still needed to hold something. Akaashi was doing this to himself and he had the nerve to keep quiet about it. 

Akaashi’s eyebrow twitched. He had silent words on his tongue, words he called for that just didn’t come out. Kuroo knew what he wanted to say- He wanted to try and convince Kuroo he wasn’t that bad. That wasn’t his case. It’s exactly what he knew would come out as Akaashi finally managed out, “I’m really n-“ 

“You are,” Kuroo cut him off. “And if you’re not, you’ll be there. You’re drinking every night, and you say you can control it, but you just told me that you couldn’t. You say you can control it, but why did I find you fully clothed in a bathtub with a bottle of vodka to your chest and an apartment ripped to shreds?”

Akaashi stared at him silently. 

“You’re killing yourself. You’re putting yourself into a cycle, and God knows how long it’s gonna be before you’re fat with your own fluid and dying, but you can’t get a new liver, all because you drank too much?” Kuroo found himself upset by his own words. The thought of Akaashi in that state, he almost felt his eyes stinging with tears. “I don’t want to see you like that. I’ll always stay by you, you know that right? I don’t want to have to watch you become that. Don’t make me.” 

Akaashi’s grip around the cardboard box tightened. It tightened, and the top popped, but he didn’t race to pull it out and begin brushing his teeth. He seemed to be shutting down, like a robot, his arms falling to his sides, and soon, the cardboard box slipped from his grip and onto the ground. It triggered a reaction, a violent sob, followed by more and more until Akaashi was a heap on the ground, holding his face in shame as he cried, babbling out apologies and nonsense. 

Kuroo watched this pathetic display, the crumbling of Akaashi Keiji. He thought he’d seen it already, he thought he’d seen that man’s world shatter, but he was wrong. Here it was, down at his feet, and Kuroo was crying too.

He hated this. 

He hated seeing Akaashi hurt. His whole plan was to make Akaashi feel better, to see that smile again, to hear him laugh. He wanted to kiss those smiling lips and give him only happiness. He didn’t want to break him down. He didn’t want to hurt him. He wanted to keep Akaashi’s world happy and peaceful and well. He wanted to improve the common welfare, he wanted to visit all the cities and build sprawling communities of prosperity. He didn’t want to be the one that commanded the fall of it. He didn’t want to be the disaster that rocked it to the ground, the nuclear bomb, the 9.9 magnitude earthquake that destroyed it all. But here he was, standing in the rubble of a fallen city. Standing over a fallen man. 

He knew this was necessary though. There was no point trying to fix something that was already collapsing on itself. The best bet to fix it would be to let it crumble, and build it up again. 

Kuroo dropped to his knees and collected Akaashi in his arms, burying his head into Akaashi’s shoulder, finding a rhythm in every stuttered breath he took, in every broken gasp and sob. He kept his own tears at bay with this, rubbing his fingers into Akaashi’s spine, sliding patterns up his vertebrae to let him know that he was there. 

He didn’t know how long they were there, Kuroo holding onto Akaashi, and Akaashi sobbing his eyes out for what felt like the hundredth time that month. Kuroo wasn’t bothered with how long it took before Akaashi’s sobs turned into sniffles, before his tense form had turned to putty in Kuroo’s hold. He was willing to wait. 

Akaashi was the first to talk. 

He lifted his head from where he’d buried it in Kuroo’s chest and forced himself to lean backward to look Kuroo in the eyes. The puffy eyes and redness were all too familiar to Kuroo by now, and the tear streaks were accessory. It was sad, but it was beautiful and it was Akaashi. 

His breath didn’t bother Kuroo now. His lips were parted, and there was a string of saliva connecting his upper and bottom lip, something Akaashi would never catch, but added to the odd and pathetic, sad beauty that he carried. 

“Kuroo,” He whispered, his eyes darting from Kuroo’s down to his lap. His lips quivered. “But… what if I don’t care about dying…? What.. what if that end sounds pretty good?” 

Kuroo felt a spasm go through his hand. _Just how bad has it been for you, Keiji?_ Kuroo leaned in and slid his hand up the back of Akaashi’s head, forcing his fingers through curly black locks, and he pulled him back. Akaashi didn’t sob. He didn’t scream. He let the motion happen, completely compliant as Kuroo lifted him onto his crossed legs. The weight was nothing, Akaashi had always been thin, and he was even lighter than he’d been in high school. It was a comfortable weight, Kuroo found as he nestled Akaashi between his legs, allowing Akaashi to wrap his own around Kuroo’s back. The weight, the feeling, the closeness reminded Kuroo that he hadn’t lost Akaashi yet. He’d come so close- but he wasn’t going to.

“Please say something,” Akaashi pleaded above him, his forehead connecting to Kuroo’s. His eyes were closed and his elbows digging into Kuroo’s shoulders, and Kuroo imagined Akaashi praying. Sobbing on his knees at the altar and crying for some help, needing divine intervention to get by. To keep going. 

In this scenario, Kuroo was God. Akaashi was begging him for a savior, to push back all the evils in his world, and to quell the darkness. Kuroo was a loving God. 

“Honestly, Akaashi…? You’ve got me speechless down here,” He admitted, leaning his chin into Akaashi’s collarbone and pressing his forehead to his neck. Akaashi’s body accepted the movements. “I can’t fathom how you- You, lovely old you- would ever want to die. You know? I can’t understand it, so I can’t counter it. I’ve got you figured out all the way down to this. This is where you stump me.” 

Akaashi let out a breath that Kuroo could have translated as a laugh, but it was dry and joyless. Just something to fill the silence, or perhaps a final loss of hope. _He can’t help me, nobody can,_ Is that Kuroo could hear from his thoughts. He didn’t give up that easily, however. Little Akaashi, he didn’t realize that Kuroo always had more to say. 

“But you know… That’s exactly what you need to know. I can’t figure out what a reason you want to die is, and I’ve dissected you down to this. This is the only mystery. Because this is where we stop being able to observe the same things. This is when it comes down to opinion, and where somebody else’s opinion mixes with yours. This… these are things you can’t see. You translate them differently than I do, and because of that, you have a warped perception of all of this.” 

Akaashi’s hands fell into Kuroo’s hair and he pulled at a few strands. 

“It’s like you’re blind. You’re blind to all these good things about you. You’re blind to what you need, how you hurt yourself, how you make life worse for yourself. You’re blind to your grace, and your humor, your intelligence… You don’t see your own beauty. You’re beautiful, and I don’t just mean look wise. Did you ever understand that?” Kuroo moved back to look at Akaashi’s face, but the other man held him in place. He was shaking again. Was he crying? Kuroo smiled and rested back into Akaashi. “Keiji, I want to make you see this. I want to be your eyes, to all this beauty you have. I want to make you feel good and happy and gorgeous and all synonyms of it. Keiji Akaashi, you’re beautiful.” 

Akaashi’s hold on him loosened, and Kuroo took the chance to lean back to observe his face. He didn’t get to, though, because in a second, cold dainty hands were holding his face and there were lips on his, so fast and forceful that he heard his teeth clink, but he didn’t care. Akaashi tasted bad. His lips still held the taste of vomit and alcohol and vaguely, a peanut butter jelly sandwich, but Kuroo loved it. 

Kuroo closed his arms around Akaashi’s back and leaned his face in closer, accepting the kiss with every atom in his being. Akaashi was kissing him like this was the first and last one he’d ever had, and holding him so tightly like if he loosened, Kuroo would fly out into space. Kuroo couldn’t help but feel at home. _I’m not going anywhere, Akaashi._

Akaashi broke from him after what felt like forever in a minute. Kuroo could have gone longer, he would have gone forever, but oxygen did exist and they needed that if they were to survive.

A string of saliva connected them, mixed together from the kiss before it broke through and fell somewhere on his lap. Kuroo couldn’t bring himself to care as he watched Akaashi gulp down air, his pretty eyes trained directly on Kuroo. There was something new, something reborn about Akaashi. His eyes were shining, glistening from tears, but more importantly, _emotion_. The voidness that had been residing within them was gone, the voidness Kuroo hadn’t realized was there until it wasn’t. It was Akaashi, back in front and back in business, and now, Kuroo couldn’t decide if his eyes were green or grey, or a mix. 

His swollen lips began moving again. Pressing together, and a tongue poked from between them. He opened up, breathed, and then laughed. Weakly, but it was a laugh. 

“Tetsurou,” Akaashi said, Kuroo’s first name rolling off his tongue like that’s what it was made for, putting a sweet taste in Kuroo’s own mouth, as the sound delighted his ears. He decided that’s all he wanted to hear Akaashi call him. _Tetsurou._ “You’re wise. You’re incredibly wise.”

_You’re incredibly wise._ Kuroo smiled at the irony. Akaashi had always been an owl in their jokes. Akaashi from Fukurodani, their wise old owl. Kuroo was a cat from Nekoma. Cats weren’t wise, but here he was, being given the name directly from the lips of an owl. Of was it a beak? “Wise? Of course I do. How could I not know?” 

“I’m serious,” Akaashi’s expression turned sharp, “you’re wise. Beyond your time, beyond my time… So thank you.” 

“What do you have me to thank for?” Kuroo slid his hands from Akaashi’s head and allowed them to fall down his body, nestling on his lower back. He could feel where there was fat on Akaashi, a small bit of plumpness at his sides, a sign of the times and of his days of volleyball being long gone. 

Akaashi exhaled shakily. It wasn’t one of anxiety or fear, rather, a laugh. It sounded like he was smothering some noise of amusement, and a weak little upturn of the side of his lips confirmed that theory for Kuroo. “You need a list?” 

“Of course I do, it’s an ego thing.” 

“I take it back. You’re horrible,” Akaashi pushed on Kuroo’s chest, turning his head away with a deadpan look in his eyes, but Kuroo could hear that he was suppressing a smile. 

Kuroo laughed. “You just kissed me, I can’t be that horrible,” He tightened his grip around Akaashi, who tilted his head to the side. 

“Maybe I like kissing horrible people.” 

Kuroo grinned wickedly, “Then I’m the worst.” He leaned his head up to capture Akaashi’s lips, and Akaashi surrendered them easily. 

“If you say so,” He mumbled against Kuroo, then leaned fully in. 

The kiss was less intense, less desperate pushing and pulling for closeness. It was slower, and Akaashi must have now understood that Kuroo wasn’t going to leave. 

When they parted now, it was slow and a sweet moment passed between them. Kuroo looked at Akaashi now in a new light. He wasn’t just Akaashi- he was Keiji. And he could kiss Keiji and hug him and squeeze him, he could carry him and take his hands. This was no longer Akaashi, Bokuto’s friend. Not even Akaashi, his own friend. This was Keiji. And that’s all Kuroo wanted him to be. 

“So… does this mean I win?” 

Akaashi’s dark eyebrows furrowed and a confused look swarmed in his grey-green eyes. “Win… win what?” 

Kuroo smirked. “I guess it does,” He now moved his eyes from Akaashi and looked down at the cardboard box that was popped open and the closed toothpaste that slid out of it. “Now let’s get you properly cleaned up. You really need to brush your teeth.” 

“What did you win?” 

* * *

“Eggnog tastes different without booze,” Akaashi said, pulling the cup of it in front of him and staring at the white liquid inside of it, “I kind of like it.” 

The tv in front of them began a jolly tune as the man and woman of the hallmark movie met eyes for the first time. It was Christmas Eve, December 24th, and Akaashi was between Kuroo’s legs on his couch, head leaned comfortably back with a blanket over their laps. 

Ever since that night, that Friday, Kuroo had been staying with Akaashi. No alcohol, no crying, only them enjoying their time with each other. Kuroo could see now, slow progress, but Akaashi was smiling more, and it hadn’t even been a week. It’s exactly what he wanted and more. 

“Do you, dollface?” Kuroo pressed his hand against Akaashi’s stomach, rubbing it in circles. Akaashi rested his hand over Kuroo’s. 

“I think I do,” Akaashi brought it to his lips again and drank, closing his eyes and sipping it down with a small smile. Kuroo loved the view. He wanted to take a picture and post it somewhere, telling that world that’s his. He won that. 

Waiting was worth it. Those few years of watching from afar, watching Akaashi pine while pining himself. He thanked Bokuto, he thanked that woman, that ring, their baby. 

Kuroo nuzzled his head into Akaashi and trained his eyes back on the screen. The cheesy movie played a heterosexual narrative, and he was so happy where he was. With Akaashi between his legs, snuggled up together on a Christmas Eve. It was everything and more than he could ever ask for. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. I hope you liked this- I started writing this three days ago with absolutely no plan because I promised myself I'd have a fifth work out by Christmas. I've wanted to write Kuroo and Akaashi for a while. This entire time, my Kuroo kinnie was shaking. My Akaashi loving self was shaking. Sorry for the mistakes and such, also note, I've never been to church and stuff, so the biblical references are 100% wrong probably. Sounded pretty in those moments. Y'all probably are shippers of OTHER stuff rather than just mainstream ships- I am a multi-shipper and not writing BokuAka was like a weird thing for me. I'm writing a KenHina fic! It's pretty cool and it's up, so you can check that out. I had to write something where Kuroo wasn't straight, or a dick, like in my current WIP KuroKen thing. Anyway, I'm rambling.
> 
> Merry Christmas and stuff to y'all. Happy Holidays!


End file.
